you walked off the water in a porcupine of light
by gidget89
Summary: this entire planet is greys and blacks, ashes to ashes and dust to dust and of no interest to anyone who isn't an archaeologist. Or someone who is accidentally on purpose looking for an archaeologist.
1. you walked off the water

_**you walked off the water in a porcupine of light**_

He runs.

Delays and avoidance are skills he has had centuries to hone, and he is oh so very good at them. He saves Christmas five times, helps discover toppled empires (conveniently forgetting along the way that he may have had a hand in the toppling of them in the first place. River would call it cheating. River would-). He orbits the Library no less than fifteen times, sitting in the open door of his TARDIS, his long legs dangling in the free space above a planet filled with books and carnivorous shadows and his _wife_, and he speaks out loud to the inky vastness of space, confessing his fears and whispering secrets to the stars around him.

He doesn't visit the Ponds, because he can't be sure if they know. He can't visit anyone because he's said goodbye to everyone. So he throws around aliases and visits planets that are off the beaten track. He doesn't make friends, but he saves some people, ignores their thanks and enters his TARDIS alone, always alone, with a snap of his fingers and his wife on his mind.

He has all of time and space at his disposal.

He doesn't need to be anywhere.

Time is not the boss of him.

But he cannot run forever, and he shouldn't be shocked when she is the one to catch up with him, in the middle of a barren desert on some tiny remote planet, her hands covered in dust as she peers up at him, studying his expression intently. "Hello, sweetie."

He swallows and stares down at her, and if he's honest with himself, which he never, ever is (the Doctor lies. But every lie is told to himself first.)- he could admit that he's been purposely helping these types of discoveries along in the hopes that she would be there for one of them. He colours and clears his throat awkwardly. "River. This is a surprise!" He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. She frowns, standing up and brushing the grey dirt from her pants (this entire planet is greys and blacks, ashes to ashes and dust to dust and of no interest to anyone who isn't an archaeologist. Or someone who is accidentally on purpose looking for an archaeologist.) and climbs out of the shallow pit she was sifting through, stepping up beside him.

The sky is grey and the sun is a colourless orb, hung low in the sky, and it makes her eyes seem like granite as she looks up at him with curiosity. "It's an abandoned planet fifteen centuries after a total extinction, sweetie. What exactly were you expecting to find here if not me?" Her brow lifts delicately and he finds himself drinking in the sight of her. Her skin looks pale, almost glowing in the odd, washed-out lighting of this planet, her hair is pulled back and there are smudges of dust on her cheek and jaw. She looks exhausted. She looks filthy. She looks-

"You look _amazing_." He breathes the words out and she actually looks down, fidgeting and biting her lip as she blushes.

"Right. Well then, shall we do diaries? Mine's in my tent, come on." She starts walking past him to a row of drab canvas tents located several yards away from the dig site. "I'm finished for today, Walt – alright?" She calls over to a man who is hunched over a table, sorting finds and scanning several artefacts.

"Alright, Professor." He waves dismissively. "See you in the morning." Walt – whoever Walt is, doesn't even look up and the Doctor stumbles as he hurries after River.

"Wait – _Professor_?" The breath in his lungs seizes and he feels adrenaline pouring through his body as his hearts pound and his body prepares for flight. No. No. This is not the her he wanted to find. This is not the River – this is far too late and he is crossing time streams. His throat feels suddenly dry and she pushes open the flap of the very last tent, waiting for him to pass her before she enters after him, letting the doors shut behind him.

It's bigger than he expected. It's – it's –

"Bigger on the inside." She admits smugly, kicking off her boots and padding across the rug over to a rustic desk in one corner. "Perception filter, of course – so the students don't notice. But have you _seen_ the size of standard tents? No – I need a little more space than _that_." He peers around, taking in the small row of cupboards, the desk and chair – the rugs one the floor, the sleeper sofa in the main area. But beyond that – and cleverly disguised by a perception filter, he can just make out a large hall leading to who knew what. He shrugs his tweed off and tosses it on the coat tree by the door before he turns back to her.

"Professor?" He asks again, his voice less high and certainly not as squeaky as it was outside.

"_When_ are we for you, Doctor? What's the last thing you did?" She turns toward him, her diary cradled in her arms and he swallows – because it is old. It is so very, very old and full and he can see several pages out of alignment. It looks as close as he's ever seen it to the very first time he ever saw it. The mere sight of it makes his hearts squeeze unpleasantly and tangle together in his chest, twisting and knotting until he feels an ache every time they beat.

"Area 52." He whispers and she gasps, dropping her diary on her desk as she straightens up and glares at him.

"You shouldn't be here." Her voice is strained and he shrugs, moving to pace across the small room as he shoots a glare at her.

"Well I didn't come on _purpose_, River. Don't be stupid." He snaps in irritation, and instantly regrets it because he knows – this is hardly her fault. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"How long ago?" She interrupts him, moving over into his path and blocking him from continuing his frenzied pace. "How long ago, Doctor?" She crosses her arms and stares up at him, dirty face and bare feet and dusty pants and shirt and his breath catches because he doesn't think she's ever looked so lovely.

And these were the thoughts he'd been trying his very very best to avoid. "A while." He hedges and she sighs forcibly, pushing a hand through her hair roughly, allowing several curls to escape.

"But you _told _me – that first night you visited you _told_ me you'd just-" She pauses, glaring up at him before she slaps his shoulder and he winces at the sting. "You _lied_ to me. Of course you did." She laughs, a hollow sound that is so sharp, he thinks the mere pitch of it may be slicing into his very soul. She closes her eyes, and he can see pain etched into the lines of her face, and he feels like all the guilt within him could just crush him, right at this very moment. This is what he does, he knows. He hurts them. All of them, always. "Of course you did." She repeats once more, her eyes opening and her voice softer now.

She stares at him for a silent moment, making no move to come closer, and he feels stripped naked under the weight of her gaze. He feels exposed, like she can see absolutely everything within him – and a River this far along – maybe she really could. "You're scared." She whispers the words like a secret, so light and so fragile they may crumble to the ground beneath their feet – more dust for the dead rock they are standing on.

"I'm not _scared_." He splutters, actually backing away from her as he speaks, his hands gesticulating wildly.

"You can't lie to me, you realize that right?" She shakes her head as she speaks and stares at him calmly.

"Well, technically I can – clearly you just said I _did_ and got away with it-"

"Well that was a few - a long, long time ago, Doctor. Me then and me now are almost two different people. And you _cannot_ lie to me now. I know all your tells. And you are terrified. Of what? Why _are_ you running, my love?" There is surprisingly little censure in her tone and he feels the tension drain out of him at her words. He's been sitting in a box; hovering over what is essentially her grave confessing things to a her he felt would understand. Who else could he talk to but this version of her?

"I don't know," he confesses quietly and she moves in closer to him, her hands reaching for him for the first time since he's stumbled across her little dig. "I don't – no, that's not true. I _do_ know. It's you."

"You're running from me?" She holds out her hand and he reaches for it hesitantly, his fingers lacing through hers and turning their hands in between them until he could study the smooth skin and observe how her palm seemed to fit within his so perfectly.

"I don't want to hurt you." He explains in a halting tone and she heaves another sigh, staring up at him.

"You will." She responds bluntly, her words twirling through the air with all the grace of a pirouetting giraffe, and he winces. "You _have_. Already, my love. So what – you don't want to hurt me _more_? Because somehow I doubt leaving me on my own in prison while I serve time for a crime I didn't commit and spend my empty hours wondering what the hell just happened while you run away is a really effective means of _not _hurting me." Her hand tightens around his and he drags his gaze back up to her face – her eyes are more green than grey now, and he can tell she is very, very upset with him.

"You don't understand." She laughs at his words, a dry brittle sound that collapses almost before it even leaves her lungs.

"Oh please, sweetie. By all means, _try me_." She scoffs and he flinches from the sound – from her all-seeing gaze that makes him feel like his hearts are lodged in the wrong location. This feels _wrong_. This is River. His River – the woman who loves him just as much as he loves her (maybe even a bit more still, but he cannot imagine possibly loving her more than he does now. Still, he leaves room for a margin of error.) and this should be him and her, almost lined up at the seams. This should feel like the sweet relief of a proper fit after months of chafing. Instead he feels lower than low, and he supposes that if anyone has the right to cause that feeling within him – it is her.

"Something always happens River. I screw them up; I hurt everyone I come in contact with. And no one," he raises his other hand to her face, brushing his knuckles against her cheek softly as he looks at her with centuries of pain and guilt laid bare before her, "no one more than you."

"How can you be the cleverest man in the universe and be so singularly _stupid_ at the same time?" She sighs the words out and the resentment bleeds out of her eyes as she looks at him. "Everything ends, my love. No force in the universe can stop that, not even you. And endings hurt – even when they're _good_ ones. It can be a good kind of hurt, but it still hurts."

He swallows at her words, and they steal through the air between them, wrapping themselves around his hearts like bits of barbed wire. "River,"

"No one has seen more endings than you, honey. You've had more than your fair share, but just because things end doesn't mean you should stop doing them. You're missing the best parts." She speaks in a rush, before he can continue and he leans into her space until his lips brush across her forehead, his hand still entwined with hers.

"Like what?" He attempts to lighten the mood, desperate for an escape but she pulls back, watching him knowingly.

"Spoilers." She murmurs and the corner of his mouth twitches, because of course – spoilers. "I told my mother and father you know. Even though I promised you not to tell anyone. I'm sorry, but I couldn't just watch her sit there and stare at the stars, mourning you."

"You shouldn't have done that," he whispers, but his hearts leap in his chest because he doesn't have to avoid his Ponds any longer. "When did you do that?"

She smiles softly, and whispers coordinates in his ear, knowing he will remember them without ever needing to write them down. When she pulls back, his hand tightens on hers, tugging her back in closer to him. She blinks up at him in confusion and he doesn't give himself time to think or over-analyze, or even wonder what this moment means for their time streams, he simply gives himself over to the longing that has consumed him since spotting her golden curls from further away than he'd ever admit, leading him straight to her. His lips brush against hers, softly, gently – one, two, three times before her mouth opens on a gasp and he swallows the sound, wrapping it around his own tongue as he pulls her flush against him.

His hearts are pounding, and his hand grips her waist tightly as his mouth moves over hers. He is kissing and nipping and sucking – her lips are so soft – and the few escaped curls tickle his face gently as he hums his pleasure into her mouth. She tastes perfect, like the universe and everything in it, and her breath is soft against his cheek and her lips are pliant under his own and her tears-

Her tears?

He pulls back abruptly, his breathing harsh as he stares down at her in confusion. "River." His hand reaches up, brushing a tear away from her cheek as he looks at her with concern.

"You weren't supposed to – back to front Doctor and you're outside of our time." Her voice is soft and strained and he pulls her into his arms, wrapping his around her shoulders as he buries his face in her hair.

"Timelord. I'm never _out_ of time, I am always precisely _in_ time, River Song. And you should know better. Back to front – who told you that rubbish anyway?" His voice is warm with amusement and she giggles into his shoulder, shaking her head.

"Who do you think?" She asks in an exasperated voice, looking up and pressing a soft kiss against his cheek.

"Well you should know better than to listen to me, River. Honestly. If you don't know that by _now_..." He looks down at her, her face so close he can study the constantly changing colour of her eyes. She really is like water in every sense of the word, she can be stormy or calm, deep and still. She can surround him, can drown him, she can carve her path in the most unyielding of terrain, she is rapid and thrilling and her only constancy is that she constantly changes. Despite knowing that she is Melody Pond, he can never assign any other moniker to her but River. Right now she looks a little bit thrilled and somewhat scared. "I needed you. _This_ you. Of course it had to be this you, River. Who else could I come to?"

"You're risking ripping apart our very time streams by being here Doctor." She admonishes him, but her eyes are warmer than they've been and he smiles crookedly at her.

"Well, I learned from the best." His voice is a whisper and she smiles with him then, attempting a disapproving glare but she falls short of the mark and lands on affectionate exasperation instead. He sobers, swallowing and looking down at her, his gaze tracking across her face as he took a deep breath. "You're everything, River. Do you know that – do you understand that? And we're not back to front but in the most finite sense we _are_. We're a clock, ticking down. If I go and see you – not _you_ you obviously but you then – I feel like I'm starting the clock. I don't want to start the clock, River. I don't want to count _down_."

Her eyes fill with tears as she listens to him and she releases his hand, both of her palms sliding up over his chest until they rest over his hearts. "It's too late, my love. It's already started and you're wasting time when we have precious little to spare."

"How little?" His hearts feel as if they are lodged in his throat and he barely manages to squeeze the question out around them.

"How much would be enough, Doctor? Enough for you? Enough for me?" Her smile is sad, as she flattens her palms over his shirt and he can feel the coolness of her skin through the cotton.

"There could never be enough." He admits the truth softly and she nods in agreement.

"Exactly. So why are you _really_ avoiding this? Avoiding me?"

He brushes a hand along her crown, soft curls tickling his skin until he reaches the tie that holds her hair back. Soft silk – tied in a bow and his breath catches as he recognizes it. "I put you there. I put you in that wretched place and you stay there for me. How much more can you be asked to sacrifice, River? Your humanity, your childhood, your regenerations, your very _life_ when you only have this one left. And I didn't even – I wasn't even going to _tell_ you. I was going to let you live your life thinking you'd killed me. I'm not – I'm not worthy of _any_ of it. I put you there. And I don't want to face that." His fingers tangle through her hair – so soft as it wraps itself around his fingers, and he sighs softly, closing his eyes for a moment.

"The problem with you, you great _idiot_, is that you seem to think you force decisions on me. Am I so weak-willed that you led me by the hand, Doctor? Granted, I had no choice in the matter of my birth – but that's more my parent's faults than yours, you stupid man. I _gave_ my regenerations to you – I chose to do that. And I could have stepped away from you on that pyramid – the instant you asked my father to give consent. Did you think I didn't _know_ what you were doing? That kiss – do you really think me so _unintelligent_ that I didn't realize what would happen? In prison all my days – you told me that on that beach." She presses her palms to his cheeks, cradling his face in her hands until he opens his eyes wide with panic.

"No! No of course I don't think that – you – you're so _clever_ River. I know you understood what I was asking of you, but-" She presses a finger to his lips, hushing him.

"Quiet. It was my choice. You never _stole_ a damn thing from me that I didn't give you willingly. And I'd do it all again. I would marry you, murder you, save you – all of it, every single moment, even the terrible ones. You're seeking absolution sweetie, and I have none to give you. I can't." She smiles softly at him and he purses his lips under her finger in thought, but does not interrupt. "No one can forgive you, my love. That's just you longing for the ability to create a better past for yourself, and you and I both know you can change everyone's past but your own. So just accept it. Accept what's been given to you – through your choices and others' – and appreciate it."

He licks his lips, his tongue running along the tip of her finger and she moves it with a weary smile. He looks at her for a moment – this absolutely fantastic, amazing woman who does what no one else in his life ever will or can. She doesn't try to fix him. She doesn't try to change him. She doesn't try to tell him he is a hero – because he is not. She knows this, better than most. She simply stands beside him, and tells him he has no need to walk alone. "River..." Her name is drawn out, it is a benediction, it is a thanks, and it is a melody he never wants to stop singing. His hands release form her hair and he feels his weight drop, his knees hitting the ground in front of her as he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face by her stomach. Her hands lace through his hair, a soothing motion repeated over and over again.

"I know, my love. It's alright. Shhh," She repeats nonsensical words to him, her hands in his hair as he holds her. He grips her tightly; as if afraid she is her namesake and will flow out of his arms at any moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispers apologies into her skin, knowing she can't possibly hear them through his ragged breathing and her own soothing sounds. But he says them anyway, because he thinks she will know. Her shirt is riding up under his arms, and he can feel the soft skin of her lower back as he presses his face into her belly. After a while, he looks up at her, like a supplicant kneeling before an altar. "River," he starts and she moves, flows down and around him until she is knee to knee with him on the floor, and he smiles because everything between them feels best when they are equal. "I'm going to," he swallows roughly, his hands tracing the line of her jaw as he searches for the right words to tell her. "I'm going to love you until the day I die. Forever, do you understand?"

"I _know_." She smiles up at him, breathing the words out and he moves in closer, the air growing thick between them until his mouth brushes against hers and he is lost. His hands are in her hair, and he can feel the delicious press of her hips against his – he feels her arms around him, holding him just as tightly as he holds on to her. A low heat spreads through him and his hearts race as his mouth devours hers. He wants to exist in only one place, in only one time – within _her_.

She pulls away abruptly, turning her face and taking deep steadying breaths that cause her breasts to brush against his chest, igniting a shower of sparks within him. He moves to kiss her again, but she ducks and avoids him, her cheeks flushed and a look of regret on her face. "River?" He sounds unsure, and she smiles at him in reassurance.

"One of the most beautiful nights of my life Doctor, was our – our wedding night, so to speak. And it was," she pauses, her fingers stroking his bowtie gently as her smile warms and spreads, "it wasn't just because it was our wedding night – but it was because it was time out of time. We were aligned – you and I. It was a first for _both_ of us." She explains gently and he closes his eyes in realization, dropping his forehead against hers. They are quiet for a moment, his arms around her and both content to share the same physical space for a moment longer. "I know you love me, _my_ Doctor." She laughs, pulling back to look at him with such immense love in her eyes, his breath catches in his lungs. "But she needs to hear it more. She needs _this_ more than I do. Even though I would really, _really_ like to just take you back to my bedroom and shag you senseless." She amends with a wry smile and he laughs out loud.

"River Song, how did I get by without you?" He wonders aloud and she smiles, straightening his bowtie with one last twitch, smoothing it before she takes his hands and stands with him.

"You did alright, my love. You will do again someday – you have to promise me that. Don't let our end destroy you, sweetie." Her eyes well again and she blinks, biting her lip as she glances to the left, brushing her tears aside with an impatient hand. "I want you to promise me." She looks back at him and he feels his own hearts twist and ache painfully as the image of her, in a chair, a twisted crown of metal on her head and the same tears in her eyes- "Promise me you'll enjoy every second we have. And you'll _remember_ it with a smile when the time comes. I couldn't stand it if you-"

"I promise, River. Always. Our story will be the best one of my whole long life, and we'll relive it over and over again. You and me – all across time and space. I _swear_, River." She smiles at his words, brushes her fingers across his cheek, and he is startled to realize there are tears of his own there.

"Thank you." She breathes out and moves away, grabbing his tweed coat and helping him into it, brushing the shoulders and smoothing his lapels. "Now then, give me a kiss good-bye; you have a wedding night to get to." Her smile is full of hope – full of sadness and absolute tremulous hope and he feels like he is about to crack in two. He is torn in half, all over the very same woman.

"Not good-bye, River. Not yet – I promise. You'll see me again. This me, I'll be back." He knows the words are true – he's not done that last night she'd spoken of just before she- "I'll be back." He reiterates and she smiles up at him, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I love you."

"Oh I love you too, my impossible mad man. So much. _So_ much." She stands on tip-toe and brushes her mouth against his. This kiss is less heated, softer, sweeter. He cradles her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the apples of her cheeks as she smiles against his mouth. "Now, go. Before I change my mind and have my way with you." She laughs and he chuckles too, stepping away from her before he is no longer capable of leaving. He stands by the door, pushing open the flap and looking back at her.

"Next time." He promises, and she smiles brightly at him, her arms wrapped round herself in a self-comforting gesture.

"Next time, my love." She agrees and he nods once, before stepping out into the washed out dreary sunshine. His hearts beat an unsteady tattoo in his chest, excitement pulsing through him. He has a wedding night to get to.

He glances over his shoulder just once – cannot help but look back and know she is there, safe – for now. He thinks when he visits next time, he'll come five minutes from now. He abhors leaving her alone for very long.

"Next time."


	2. hoping their grace will get stuck

_**hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes**_

Breaking in is so much easier than breaking out, he reasons.

And for once he knows that he will not end up at the wrong time or place, he knows this trip barely needs any guidance from him at all – it is his TARDIS embracing her child. And the old girl always knew where he needed to be. He doesn't want to face the image of her in prison, behind those bars (even though he's seen it before and will again, but right now that is a serrated blade of a thought turned sharply in his chest) so he materializes around River.

The TARDIS. Wrapping herself around his wife and folding her into their space.

She is curled up on the floor by the doors, her face buried in her knees and he sends them into the Vortex once more before he makes his way down to her. She looks up as he approaches, fear and longing etched across her face. "You have to take me back!" She pushes herself up, scrambling to her feet as she glares at him. "Doctor, you have to take me back!"

Her hair is wild about her face and he smiles, a crooked grin that confuses her, and his smile only widens as he watches that confusion spread across her face. "I don't _have_ to do anything, River Song." He responds with a grin and she takes a deep breath, breathing it slowly out through her nose in order maintain her calm. "I left out the honour and obey parts on purpose you know. I may be an old fool in love, but even I'm not delusional enough to believe we'd ever do as we're told."

She is staring at him with an incredulous expression and she puts a hand on her hip as her stare morphs into a glare before his very eyes. "If I'm not in that cell – what's the _point_ of having done it all, Doctor? If you just plan on popping in and out at your whim, why bother putting up the ruse at all?"

"Oh they'll never know." He dismisses her worries easily, with a wave of his hand. "Or they'll assume it's a younger me – time-traveller, you know, River." He lifts his brows as he looks down at her, but her expression hasn't eased and if anything, she looks angrier than she was a moment ago.

"So what?" She scoffs, looking singularly unimpressed with him. "You just pop by when you have the time and take me out for a run like the dog? Would seem a bit cruel to leave me all caged in like that, would it?" Her eyes are the brightest green he's ever seen them – not even when he showed up in that diner after she'd watched him die. Again. He steps back, because an angry River usually means slaps – mean ones at that. "I don't want it, take me back." She crosses her arms and he half-waits a moment to see if she's going to stamp her foot as well. She is so very young, but he refrains from mentioning it – knowing she would definitely slap him in that case.

"Are you quite finished?" He asks after a moment and she gapes at him, her jaw dropping as her gaze narrows. "I've no intention of taking you back. Not tonight."

"What's so special about tonight?" Irritation laces the question, and her eyes all but shoot sparks at him. His hearts speed up at the sight of her, hair wild, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed – she is particularly gorgeous, especially when she's angry.

He steps in closer again, until there is almost no space between his body and hers, her crossed arms brush against his chest when she takes a deep breath. "It's our wedding night, River. You can't be mad at me on our wedding night. That's no proper way to start off a marriage."

"It's _not_ our wedding night." She sighs in exasperation and she throws her arms up as she speaks.

"Well obviously I had to wait for you to be transferred to Stormcage, so technically no - I suppose for you some time has passed-"

"It hasn't for you?" She demands, cutting him off and he ignores her question with a slight smile, continuing on with his previous thought.

"-but _technically_ we got married at a point in time when everything was happening all at once, so I guess that would make _every_ night our wedding night. Well. That could get interesting. Makes anniversaries a bit difficult to plan though eh? Oh well – we'll just pick a date for those." He waves that thought off and she swallows, looking up at him with an expression that is wavering between fascination and frustration. He's rather hoping she decides to land on the former.

"It's still not our wedding night." She points out in an even tone, the type of tone recognized by husbands all across the universe as a signal to run. As far and as fast as you can. But he's always been rubbish at weddings, especially his own, and the same holds true for marriages. He might actually be worse at those, actually. She steps back, striding over to the stairs and up to the console, attempting to punch in coordinates. The TARDIS doesn't respond, bless his old girl, and he follows after River quickly.

"What? Why not?" He demands – she'd promised him a wedding night. "You promised! Well not you you. Not this you, but you have told me. Tonight. Or I guess according to you you _will_ tell me and that's a spoiler – so ignore that." He is chasing her around the console as she attempts different buttons and levers, all of which are unresponsive. She groans in frustration, stepping back and balling her hands into fists as she glares up at the silent time rotor. Finally she stops, turning to him with frustration written all over her face.

"Because you daft man, we are _not_ married." She shouts the words at him and he slides to a halt abruptly, looking at her in complete shock.

"No, no, no – I got the time right this time. I mean I'm usually late. Or early, depending on who you're asking, but this time I made sure, _this_ was important and – ah-ha!" He jumps and shakes a finger in her face in triumph. "You're in Stormcage so it _has_ to be after we're married." He finishes with a smug smile and she rolls her eyes, her hip cocking to the left as she raises an unimpressed brow in his direction.

"Doctor, _stop_ it. It was a bowtie and a consolation prize for me spending the rest of my days in prison. It wasn't even _you_. Don't humour me by romanticizing it." Her tone is bitter and he stares at her, aghast. He hadn't been expecting this. Not _this_ – and oh when he went back to that planet and his River, he was going to – well, honestly he was probably going to kiss her senseless for a few hours, among other things, but eventually there would be yelling. Lots and lots of it. Infuriating woman. He snaps his attention back to the River at hand. The very young, very hurt, very vulnerable looking River standing in front of him.

"Am I romanticizing it, River? I'm not doing it for _your_ benefit if I am; I rather thought it was for my own. But maybe I really _am_ just a daft old man." He cannot keep the slightest tinge of hurt out of his tone and her face softens as she looks up at him warily.

"You didn't even ask me, Doctor."

"I did! Well, no, I didn't but I did – you just don't know it yet. And technically I suppose I hadn't _meant _to ask then either, but try telling _you_ that. So, for the record, it wasn't as if I walked up to the top of that pyramid and snatched you up and married you against your will. Even though I suppose, in retrospect it _could_ be interpreted – you know what? _Fine_. Fine." He moves over to the console, reaching up for the monitor and swinging it along with him. He begins inputting coordinates and she watches him warily, her eyes wide and filled with fear.

"What are you doing?" She demands, moving over by his shoulder and attempting to read the screen but he flicks the switch off and pulls the lever, sending the time rotor into motion again. "Are you – are you taking me back?" She's attempting to sound like she doesn't care, and he laughs, because she just doesn't _know_ him yet. Not properly. Oh she's heard fairytales and heard tales of terror, and she's watched him swagger his way through death itself, but she doesn't _know_.

"Taking you back?" He scoffs. "No. What on earth would I do that for? I told you – no going back. Not tonight."

"Then what are you doing?" Her question is soft, hesitant, almost as if she hates herself for asking it in the first place. He turns to her with a smile.

"Well apparently all of time at once on the top of a pyramid in Cairo didn't count. Guess I wore the wrong suit." He reflects with a wry smile and her eyes widen as she stares up at him, speechless. "Only one thing to do then, River Song."

"What's that?" She whispers, and he laughs, clapping his hands and twirling about on the spot. He bows before her and straightens, holding out his arm.

"I believe you asked me out for dinner? That part _does_ still count, right?" She stares at him for a moment before shaking her head lightly. "Oh," his voice is crestfallen and he pouts, "it didn't?"

"No! I mean _yes_, I mean –" She stumbles over her words and gazes helplessly up at him. "I mean it _did_ count, but I can't – not in this." She waves her hands over her body and he glances down, inspecting her tank top and pants.

"For the record, I think you look lovely in most anything, but _if_ you'd like to change, the TARDIS wardrobe will provide you with whatever you need." He should have known better really, should have approached this whole thing gently – like she was a timid animal, ready to bolt. She needs to be coaxed – no, deserves to be wooed. He gives her a gentle push in the direction of the wardrobe and she stumbles away, glancing over her shoulder nervously as she walks. He can still see a shadow of regret lining her eyes, but he'll soon fix that. He came for a wedding night, and he'd give her one, even if it took him months to convince her. He rather hopes it won't though; he's looking forward to the night part of the wedding night, although the wooing should be fun too. "Wooing." He whispers the word to himself as he moves around the console, waiting for her. "That's a _great_ word." The TARDIS hums in agreement, and he grins up at the rotor.

He needs, he needs – not a ring because he doubts that would work on a woman as contrary as River Song – but he needs something. The TARDIS whirs happily and the console slides open, a bowtie appearing as if by magic. He picks it up, stroking the length of the silky material, patterned in an intricate black and white weave that made it appear grey from afar. It is, of course, the same one. His TARDIS would do no less, and he knows it. He hears her in the hall, and hastily shoves the bowtie in his pocket, leaning in to the console before River enters the room. "Thanks, dear." He whispers to his ship, who hums in response and he looks up just as River re-enters the room.

She looks stunning. Of course, that goes without saying, but she is in a long dress that is a smoky grey shade, it has only one strap, crossing over her left shoulder and she is holding a pair of red heels in her hands as she frowns at him. "Does your ship have some sort of kink, sweetie? There were hundreds of dresses in there, but these were the only shoes I could find." She pauses before him, looking up at him with an arched brow. "Or do _you_ have a kink? Oh God, whose shoes _are_ these?" He grins at her question, because of course, they are her shoes. Shoes that she'd left dangling from the cross bar of his TARDIS screen, a bright red calling card that he'd kept in a fit of fondness after watching her leave in a cloud of dust on that beach. His River. Hell in high heels and of course those high heels would be in themselves, a paradox.

"Paradox shoes." He speaks out loud and laughs, and she shakes her head in confusion.

"But I can wear them right? They don't do anything _weird_, do they?"

"No! Nothing weird, I promise." He watches for a moment as she slips them on, bracing one hand on the console and leaning over to step into them. When she finishes, he can see the deep red peeping out from beneath the hem of her gown and he finds himself wondering what she would look like with _just_ the shoes – "Well, nothing weird to _you_ at any rate." He clears his throat and flushes as she eyes him with a smirk.

"Is that what you're wearing?" She demands and he looks down at his customary tweed. He has his green coat too, of course, but his shirt is grey and his bowtie is red today, and that would just look terrible.

"Of _course_. I look cool!" He insists, and she glances over him before sighing.

"You only dress up for dying I suppose?" She mutters as she tucks her hand through his elbow and he laughs as they walk to the doors.

"Well, weddings too." He points out, and she glares up at him suspiciously. "What? I do! Ask your mother! I was at their wedding you know. Well so were- ah, nevermind, not important. The important things is _this_." He flings the doors open and they step out into a velvety night. It is warm, and the stars saturate the sky – millions upon millions of them, glittering against the dark. She gasps, looking above as he guides her off the dewy grass and onto the pathway beyond.

"Where are we?" She asks in wonder and he smiles fondly in her direction.

"Alfava Metraxis. Seventh planet in the Dundra system. Early fiftieth century, I believe, used to be home to an indigenous species, the Aplans, but they died out. Human colony now." He walks her along the path, through the garden and toward the terrace of the building he'd landed behind. "I _love_ this planet. Great memories. Well, not great, I mean I was a bit afraid I'd die at the time, but it all worked out in the end. Anyway, all safe now." He pauses, wondering about the army of weeping angels somewhere on this planet, infesting its catacombs. "Well, safe _enough_ anyway." She looks at him in confusion and he shrugs. "Anyway, point is this is the garden of the best restaurant in the entire capitol colony. So shall we, Dr. Song?"

They are shown to a table that is tucked away on a private corner of the terrace, after he pulls out his psychic paper of course, and it isn't long until they are settled in surrounded by stars and drinking wine (well he has grape juice, she has wine. Some things he only needs to try twice.) awaiting their meal. "Not a bad first date." She admits softly and he scoffs.

"Second date." He corrects and she laughs softly.

"It's not fair to count dates I've not been on yet, Doctor. Rude."

"What? No you were there. Dancing and flirting – two kisses, and sure one killed me but it could be my favourite way to die so far." He teases her gently and she goes white before colouring, looking down at the table and fiddling with her cutlery.

"That wasn't a date." She speaks in a low tone, and he studies her for a moment before standing and pulling his chair around the table until it was next to hers. He sits once more, pulling her hands from the table and wrapping his own around them.

"Semantics. I thought it was an amazing first date." He speaks next to her ear, leaning in until his lips brush against her ear. He watches a shiver crawl through her and feels inordinately pleased with himself as she leans into him, just a touch.

"It was one of the worst days of my life, Doctor, please don't." Her voice is a whisper and he pulls back, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. The waiter comes with their food, unobtrusively setting it on the table and disappearing before he was even noticed.

"Don't think of it like that, please River. Don't think of it as they day you killed me. Think of it as the day you _saved_ me. And not just my life, you saved _me_, River. I got to watch you regenerate – and oh, it was glorious. You were _glorious_. You're like me, and I've been so alone for so long, oh River..." He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and watching in delight as she blushes. "I loved you, even then. _Especially_ then."

She turns to look at him then, her eyes meeting his. Her face is so close to his he can feel her breath against his cheek, he can see the shadows under her haunted eyes, every line on her face and she is beautiful, so achingly beautiful that his breath catches. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's true." He answers simply, shrugging. "I was half in love with you before I even knew who you were, River. Maybe even from the moment I met you. You and I – we're tailored for each other. My bespoke psychopath, but if you're mine, I'm yours. And I always will be."

"Always?" Her voice is disbelieving but he leans in closer to look her in the eye.

"For the rest of our lives, River. Starting now." She swallows and leans into him, her shoulder brushing against his. She moves slowly, as if giving him every chance to back away and he wants to laugh at the notion, but closes the distance between them instead, covering her mouth with his.

Kissing River is always the same, but different. No matter when they are, he feels the same thrill, the same buzzing under his skin, the same racing of his hearts. But she isn't as confident and he leads this time, which is new. Her mouth opens easily under his and his tongue slides along hers as his hands creep up into her hair, burying themselves there. When he pulls away, their breathing is uneven and he leans his forehead against her temple, his fingers still ensnared in her curls. "Marry me, River. Marry me here, marry me on earth, marry me on satellites and moons and space stations. Anywhere you like. _Everywhere_ if you want. But please, please trust that I love you, please marry me?"

His hearts are thundering in his chest and he thinks he might actually feel nervous, which was a ridiculous notion. This woman had ripped apart reality for love of him, surely she would live in that reality with him? His wife. "Doctor, you don't have to-" His hands tighten in her hair and she stops speaking as he pulls back and looks at her.

"I _want_ to River. I want to – honestly you are my wife. Right now. This very second, as far as I'm concerned – you're my wife. But if I have to marry you all over the galaxy, in every ritual possible, on every world that's ever existed or ever _will_ exist, then I will. I will do it _gladly_. Just – just tell me yes. Tell me yes and we'll go right now. We'll get married wherever you want, I don't care. Just let me call you my wife. Because in my hearts, you already are." She is looking at him, tears in her eyes and he can feel her trembling against him. His hands are shaking too and she nods, breaking into a tremulous smile.

"Okay." She nods once more and he grins triumphantly. "Okay. Right now. Here. This planet, I don't care where."

They don't even touch their meals, instead they rise, hands clasped as he runs through the marriage requirements for this colony in his head. It takes some finagling and excess use of his psychic paper, but not an hour later they are standing before a judge in the garden, just outside of the TARDIS – the only witness they need, really.

When the judge asks if they have rings, the Doctor fumbles, pulling out his bowtie, and explaining that they want a hand-fasting ritual. The judge looks on askance – after all it's not a usual request in the 49th century – but complies. Their vows are standard, because nothing could ever adequately cover the specifics of their relationship anyway, and once it's over he pulls her toward him, kissing her before the judge even announces that he may do so.

She doesn't seem to mind. Her hand is still tied to his and her other hand grips his lapel tightly as she kisses him back. Last time they'd had a wedding kiss, time had started. This time it seems to have stopped, because neither of them is aware of anything but each other. The judge clears his throat, and hands them a wedding certificate – asking them to sign. John Smith and River Song, and he makes the mistake of congratulating Dr. and Mrs. Smith, but River corrects him archly – Dr. And Dr. _Song_.

"It doesn't work like that!" He exclaims, and she laughs, pulling him in for another kiss instead of arguing the point. It's a fair argument, he decides, his hands in her hair as she pushes him against the TARDIS doors. The judge simply rolls his eyes, muttering about '_young kids in love_' and leaves them alone with the night sky above them and their faithful ship at their side.

They stumble inside, and he unwinds the bowtie from their hands, wrapping it around the strap of her dress several times and re-tying it with a grin. "Is it alright if we don't have rings? You can keep this with you, River. I mean I'll get rings if you want, but really, I thought you might be allowed to keep this with you in your-" She cuts off his babbling with her lips, and his hands drop to her waist, pulling her into him as they waltz backwards through the console room.

She is breathless when she pulls back, her smile wide and warm. "I love you. It's perfect." She declares, and he smiles at her joyfully, his hearts bursting with happiness. It is perfect – she is perfect, _they_ are perfect.

"I love you too. And now Wife, I have a request." She smiles fondly up at him, her hand brushing against the bowtie at her shoulder before reaching for the one around his neck. She strokes it gently, with a grin in place.

"Yes, my love?"

"I believe I heard something about a wedding night?"


	3. playing musical chairs

_**playing musical chairs with your exit signs **_

He has never prayed so hard to arrive at just the right time in his whole long life.

Well, that's a lie – he probably has prayed quite hard when things like life and death and the fate of the entire universe were at stake, but in his defence, this feels more important at the moment.

He can actually see the TARDIS dematerializing mere feet from the door as he opens it, and he grins. He's just left then – this should be perfect. He closes the door behind him, locking the TARDIS and setting off with a cheerful whistle. His hands are in his pockets, and nobody at the dig site pays much attention to him at all. After all, he'd probably just forgotten something. He'd just been there.

He slips into her tent with quiet ease. She has her arms wrapped around herself, and she is standing before the tiny camp stove with her back to him – watching the kettle. Tea. Of course – it cures the world's hurts, and his chest tightens at the thought of her hurting.

"You know," he speaks aloud and she jumps, visibly startled. "I just realize I've forgotten something."

She whirls around, and he can see traces of tears on her face. She scrubs her hands across her cheeks and frowns at him. "What have you forgotten my love?" Her voice is thick and he shrugs his tweed off before sauntering across the tent, reaching behind her to turn the kettle off. He didn't come here for tea, after all. Maybe later. Maybe much, much later.

"You." He speaks softly by her ear, and she looks up at him with a startled expression.

"Doctor, I _told_ you-" She begins, but his mouth cuts her off, his hands in her hair and he is kissing her passionately. She tastes different now, this her. There is a bite to her flavour that melts across his tongue and makes his mouth water in anticipation. He wonders if the slight change in flavour applies everywhere. His skin flushes at the thought and she moans into his mouth as one of his hands travels down over her shoulders and back until he slides it over her hips and arse, pulling her into him with a groan. She is breathless when she pulls away from the kiss, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes glossy and he thinks it suits her far better than tears or sadness.

Eliciting this change is quite addictive and he wonders if he can go back and properly correct every parting between them for her. Visit her two minutes after his first kiss with her, pop into a cleric ship in orbit over Alfalva Metraxis and give her a proper goodbye instead of awkward shy flirting and teasing. Hide out of his own sight in Amy's garden and snog her senseless before she even finds the younger version of himself and retrieves her diary and manipulator. Afterall, there were rather a lot of unaccounted hours between her giving Rory the diary and getting her manipulator back. Maybe he'd even find out where she'd disappeared to in a haze of smoke, electricity and time, and follow her there too.

Maybe he'd do both – she'd like that he thinks.

"Doctor, you have to go." Her voice is breathless and she looks so determined that he just has to kiss her once more – his mouth is greedy for hers, after all – and the need never seems to be satisfied enough for him. He presses her back into the tiny cupboard that is pretending to be a kitchen, his hips surging into hers, desperate for some kind of friction, some kind of sweet relief.

Her hands scrabble across his back, pulling and tugging and she winds one up into his hair even as she bites his lower lip gently, running her tongue over the mark as he pants into her mouth with need. Her hands push at his shoulders and she shakes her head. "I _told _you-"

"So you did, sweetheart. But when have I ever listened to you?" His face is filled with amusement and she freezes at the sound of him calling her that, looking up into his face intently.

"Oh you liar." She breathes out, shaking her head as a smile creeps across her face. "You're not you at all! How long has it been for you?" she demands, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as she grins.

"Oh you know, long enough for a honeymoon. And like you're one to talk, _Professor_. Wedding night indeed – a slight hint about the fact that I was going to have to convince you to marry me all over again would have been nice!" He scolds her gently, his hands sliding down her sides as she stretches up on her toes to kiss him again in response. He pulls her up and against him until she is wrapping her legs around his waist, and they both moan in delight at the change in friction that brings about. He is still kissing her as he half-stumbles, half-carries her through the perception-filtered doorway at the back of her tent. It's a long hall, but his mind is on other things, so he pays no attention to it as they crash into one wall, his frame pressing into hers as she rolls her hips over his. He has to tear his mouth away to bury his face in her neck, a groan is pulled from him as she rolls her hips again. She laughs in delight and he glares down at her. "Bad, bad girl. Where is your bed?"

Her hands are already busy between them, tugging his bowtie off and draping it over her own neck before she unbuttons his shirt more rapidly than should even be possible. She slides her hands against the cool skin of his chest, pushing his shirt and braces down as far as she can, what with him pressing her into a wall and his hands under her bum, holding her up. She leans forward, pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder, biting there gently and his hips buck, pushing her into the wall. "Next door on the left," she manages to mutter and he lifts her once more, heading in the direction she indicated as quick as he possibly can. He assumes it's her bedroom, but he doesn't really give a damn outside of the fact that it has a large bed in the center of the room that he drops her on. She is sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed, her hand snaking out to snag the waist of his trousers and haul him forward. She pulls his shirt off now, and his braces dangle around his hips and thighs.

She is smiling in satisfaction even as she tugs on his waist again, sending him tumbling onto the bed next to her. She climbs over him, swinging one leg over his hips until she is sitting astride him, her hands tracing lines across his chest as she observes him smugly. "Convincing me to marry you all over again? Huh. No worse than you citing my yes in my mother's garden as obtained permission Doctor. That didn't count!"

"I asked if you thought I was asking you to marry me and you said yes," he points out, slipping his hands under her shirt and lifting it up and over her head in one fluid movement. He sits up, with her still in his lap, one arm wrapping around her lower back for stability as he leans forward, pressing kisses across her clavicle and down her sternum until he can place a kiss over each one of her hearts. "It counts." He mutters into her skin and she twists her arms behind herself, undoing her bra and shimmying out of it, her hips pressing into his pelvis in all manner of delicious ways. As soon as the bra is out of the way, he lowers his mouth to her breast, rolling his tongue across the peak, and her hands weave their way into his hair as her back arches, thrusting her breasts forward for him.

"Does not count." She pants the words out in and amongst the breathy little moans escaping her throat as he sucks one nipple into his mouth. His free hand is tracing Gallifreyan symbols across the smooth expanse of her back, circles and lines that mean nothing to anyone anymore, save them.

He lifts his head to move over to the other breast and looks up at her with a wicked grin. "Does too, you know you wanted to marry me, even when I was that young. You loved me." He is smug and she slaps his shoulder sharply, the sting surprising but not unwelcome as it sends a thrill shooting through him. He bends his head, licking along the underside of her breast and tasting the salt of sweat there and he was right earlier – she does taste different all over. His hips rise from the bed, pressing into her in eager anticipation as she gasps.

"Rude to mock a girl's unrequited love, Doctor." She points out with a pant; grabbing his shoulders and falling back with him until they are spread out across the bed, a tangle of limbs and skin and sadly still some clothing. He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks down at her seriously.

"Not unrequited River." His voice is a whisper and she opens glassy eyes to look at him, her cheeks red and her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths.

"Even then?" She wonders aloud and he doesn't answer her – he simply lowers his head and kisses her, thinking of all the times he's laid waste to already. He should have trusted his own instincts from the very start. He should have- her nails scratch lightly down his back and he pulls away, looking down over her with wonder.

"I love you. So much, River. _My_ River." She smiles up at him, and her whole face seems to be alight and she is honestly so stunning he needs to take a moment to remember that he needs to breathe. He loves her, loves the mystery and intrigue of her. Loves that she is a puzzle and he still doesn't have all the pieces to or even knows where they quite fit – but _oh_ he loves the attempt. He feels his eyes sting and buries his face by her neck, pressing kisses along the length of it and praying she can't feel his tears.

It creeps up on him sometimes as he watches her – his foreknowledge. But he is the Doctor and he _cannot_ accept the fact that she must die in that Library. He presses kisses along her shoulders, and reaches up, untying her hair until it springs forth, tickling his face. He will find a way to save her. Even if it takes him the rest of his days – he will. Save her or join her – but one way or another, he will spend eternity with this woman.

His hands fumble at her waist, unbuttoning and stripping her and he crosses arms with her hands doing the same exact thing – they bump into each other and laugh about it. But eventually they are lying beside each other, and his hands stroke along the length of her body, his hands brushing from her shoulder, over the swell of her breast, nipping in at her tiny waist and flaring out again at the curve of her hip. Everywhere he moves his hands, she fits perfectly. If he believed in things like that, he would think it was a sign.

Her hands explore him too, and she crawls to her hands and knees gracelessly, without care, her hair tickling along his skin as she presses kisses across his throat and shoulders, down over his chest and stomach, nipping at his hip bones while he bucks underneath her, gasping and repeating her name.

She tilts her head to look up at him, smiling knowingly as her hair brushes against him and he groans at the feel of it. She lifts her head again, licking along the length of him just once before she swallows him whole and he gasps, his hips twitching but she's pressing them into the mattress with her hands.

He cannot properly concentrate, there is a buzzing in his ears and she _hums_ as she moves her mouth up and down along the length of him, and he feels that hum all the way to his toes. She swirls her tongue around him, and he balls his hands into fists simply to stop himself from reaching for her. He threads his fingers through her hair instead, and she moans when he tugs a bit, so he does it again, harder. Her humming increases along with her pace, and she aligns the lower half of her body with his, still constantly moving up and down, her tongue in constant motion. She lowers herself until she is sitting on his leg, and she presses her hips down and he can feel her there – hot and wet and pulsing against his shin. She squirms a bit until she hits the spot she wants and she gasps, releasing him as she buries her face by his hip, his hands still pulling at her hair.

He pulls her up against him roughly, rolling them over until he is above her now, and he smiles as he kisses his way down the length of her body. He licks and nips at the skin of her shoulders, her belly, her breasts and her thighs. She is amazing – every inch of her, and the sight of her never ceases to amaze him. He loves so much about her, the shape of her, the softness of her skin, the noises she makes when he touches her. He nips at her hip bone they way she did his, and she startles him by squealing and crawling to the left, away from him. "Doctor, no!" She is breathless with laughter, and he grins, following her across the bed until he can pin her down and do it again, listening as she laughs hard and struggles against his hold.

"Ticklish, River?"

"Not ticklish. It just – I can't explain it Doctor but you can't do that, it makes me... all..." She gestures her hands in a twirling motion and he lays his head on her stomach, grinning up at her.

"I like it," he admits with a laugh and she rolls her eyes.

"I _don't_."

"Tell me – if I promise never to do it again – am I lying?" He is teasing her now and she glares at him, folding her arms across her chest.

"You always lie." She points out in a tone of exasperation and he chuckles, turning his face to press a soft kiss to her belly, dipping his tongue inside her belly button quickly. He moves his face lower, and smiles up at her from where he is laying between her legs.

"Oh yeah, I do. Best not promise then, eh?" He winks and she laughs, attempting to glare at him but he presses his face forward until his nose is buried against her center and her laughter stops abruptly with a gasp. His licks along the length of her, sweet and bitter and crisp and rich – he loves this part. Because it involves him doing what he does best – talking. His hands grip her hips and he licks and sucks, nips at the small bundle of nerves as she twitches and gasps beneath him, her hands burying themselves in his hair and twisting. He doesn't hum like she does when she does this for him, instead he mumbles words in his own language against her skin and some of it is poetry, some of it is love letters pressed into the most secret of places. Some of it is dirty limericks, and she giggles through those – and a few are tongue twisters that make her gasp.

One of his hands releases her hip, inching below his chin until he can run his fingertips along her wetness, delving in and out at whimsy, circling and twisting until she is panting, his name skipping off her lips like a record stuck in a groove. He can feel the moment just before she comes undone, feel the tension in her body coil and coil and coil right before it snaps and his hand is suddenly soaked and he licks her all through that too – because she tastes like _his_.

Her hands pull him up, and she shoves him against the headboard until he is sitting up, his back pressed against the wrought iron. She climbs into his lap with haste, not stopping until she sinks down on top of him, warmth and wetness and again she just fits him - his bespoke wife. She is tailor made, for him. She lets out a deep moan and stills and his hands trace along her back, long strokes from her shoulder to hip, over the round of her behind as she leans forward and claims his mouth with hers.

She moves as she kisses him, her hips undulating and her tongue mimicking the action in his mouth. She tastes like him, or he tastes like her but together it is indescribable. These kisses are messy, wet with random pauses as they gasp for air. Wrong angles that cause his teeth to clack against hers but he doesn't care, because he can feel her everywhere, all at once. Her weight in his lap and her feet brushing against his knees, her hips against his, her heat wrapped all around him and her mouth fused to his as she increases her pace, growing more and more frantic in her movements.

He pulls his face away from hers, burying it in her hair, her curls sticking to his skin as he grips her hips and groans her name as his world explodes into tiny shards of light on the edges of his vision. She follows, pressing down against him as he rises up; his name is panted in his ear as her hands bite into his shoulders so tightly he is sure there will be bruises.

Afterward, she collapses against his chest and he slides down awkwardly, dragging two pillows and the duvet with him until they are sprawled against each other, sticky skin and heaving chests. She tucks herself along his side, her hand over his left heart and he can feel her heartbeats against the side of his ribs.

This is his favourite part, he thinks, as his hand traces along the line of her shoulders before it inevitably creeps up into her curls. They're not tired – they rarely are – so these moments of catching their breath are ones of quiet companionship, and it's something he cherishes. "River?" his voice is a whisper and she tilts her head back slightly, just able to look up at him.

"Mmm?"

"Would you ever change it – if you could? Make us proper and linear and not a big ball of insanity?" He is hesitant to ask the question, because he doesn't want to disturb their moment of peace. She smiles gently, pressing her hand against his chest harder for a moment before she leans back and looks at him properly.

"No. Not even if I could, Doctor. I don't regret any of it – I never could. I love you far too much for that." Her voice is warm and he shakes his head.

"No, not like _that_, I mean – if we had a chance, eventually, to somehow just... merge and move forward linearly... would you want that? To be with me always and not just only sometimes?" He is afraid of her answer because he knows what this question means, even if she doesn't. He is asking her permission. Her permission to tear this universe apart, searching for a way to save her from that Library. So he can have her with him, always. The way a husband and wife _should_ be.

"Of course I would my love. I would be with you every moment if I could. You and me. Our TARDIS. We'd never be apart. But I- I don't like to think about it much, because I don't think it will ever happen." Her voice grows thick and he rolls to face her, pushing his other hand against her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek softly.

"I'll find a way. I promise. Someday, I _will_ find a way. I swear to you, River." She says nothing, but smiles at him with tears in her eyes and he leans over, pressing a kiss to her forehead softly. "I will find a way."

"Always a way out, hmm?" She wraps her arm around his waist and burrows into him with a smile.

"There is for me. You trust that, River Song. I'll work it out."

"Alright, my love, I trust you." She presses a soft kiss to his shoulder before lifting her head and peering around the darkened room. "How long can you stay?"

"For a while. Maybe I'll kick around here for a bit – mock your theories and tease you about already knowing what happened to this planet." He grins and she laughs softly.

"Well you certainly know how to charm a girl," she smiles down at him and he runs his fingers along her jaw line.

"I do. Plus there's plenty of wooing to be done." She giggles at his words and he affects a hurt air. "What?"

"Wooing?" She manages through her laughter and he shakes his head.

"Wooing is a _great_ word. Almost as good as shenanigans – which we can also get up to. Wooing and shenanigans on a dead planet. Sounds perfect to me." He defends himself and she shifts closer to him, dropping a quick kiss to his mouth.

"You daft man, I already married you – wooing is no longer required." She points out and he gasps.

"Wooing is most definitely _always_ required River. Especially when the object of one's woo-" He ignores her outright bark of laughter and carries on, "is one's wife. I should write a new rulebook. Rules for being married. Rule 1: always woo your wife."

"Always?" She asks with a smile and he pulls her against him again, tickling her sides lightly until she is giggling into his shoulder, breathless with laughter.

"Always. Not leaving until you are good and properly wooed, Professor Song."

"Might take a while," she bites her lip and grins up at him, her eyes shining. "Sure you can stand being in one place that long?"

"Absolutely not, I abhor staying in one place." He insists and her face falls slightly so he presses a quick kiss against the top of her head. "Unless of course, that place happens to be right next to my wonderfully amazing, clever wife. I can make an exception – just in that one case."

"Well, my love. Consider myself on the road to woodom."

"That's not even a real word. You're just saying things." He teases her gently and she laughs against his shoulder. "Don't mock the wooing, River. You'll see."

"I look forward to it my love."


End file.
